


Handsome Devil

by bloodravenclaw



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodravenclaw/pseuds/bloodravenclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes, home from the war and trying to readjust to his life, runs into an attractive stranger by chance one night in December 1943.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handsome Devil

**Author's Note:**

> More or less inspired by the song Handsome Devil by the Smiths (I'm very creative with my fic titling, i know): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLEYvF99YWc  
> Hope you enjoy!!  
> possibility of adding more after this, but not likely.

Bucky shrugged his coat tighter around himself. It was a mid-December evening in 1943, chilly, a brisk wind and heavy clouds hinting at snowfall to come. He was grateful for the cold, though-- in his heavy wool coat, no one noticed his lack of an arm at first glance. It was nice to avoid the double-takes and pitying looks. He wished they’d stop altogether; it wasn’t as if sights like him were so strange these days. And it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected it to be, not really. He’d gotten used to it; or at least, he’d adapted to the physical reality.

He stubbed out his cigarette under his heel and leaned against the wall outside a clothing shop, scanning the bustling crowd of Christmas shoppers. People rushed past brightly decorated shop displays-- the one belonging to the clothing store bore a somewhat lopsided but still smiling reindeer painted on the inside of the glass and silvery strands of tinsel hanging from the top of the window. A woman in a red overcoat rushed past, laden with several shopping bags and a couple small children. Bucky avoided eye contact. Ever since coming home from France a few months prior, he hadn’t felt quite a part of things. He’d managed well enough, finding a job at a diner back home in Brooklyn and renting a modest apartment, but he’d felt separate, detached. He’d expected his niche to be waiting for him when he got back home, but somehow it wasn’t. Maybe it had closed up in his absence, or maybe he’d changed shape so as not to fit any more. Either way, he didn’t fit into the social scene like he used to. His friends were all off at war, or the ones who weren’t, he couldn’t talk with like he used to. After a while it was easier not to try. He felt a prickle in his missing fingers and shrugged it away. He supposed the why of it didn’t matter much, anyway. At least he’d come back at all. Not all the guys had been so lucky. He swallowed. _Jesus, Barnes, keep it together._ He went back to surveying the crowd, a habit he’d fallen into. If he was lucky, maybe some of the holiday cheer’d rub off on him.

He wasn’t very lucky.

He shivered as a cold gust of wind blew down the street and started walking, more as a way to keep warm than to get to any particular destination. He kept close to the wall, the better to stay out of the crush. People walked by, each one with their own lives and concerns. Jobs, friends, families. Lovers. He shoved his hand into his pocket and walked a little faster.

Speaking of which. He hadn’t had anyone since-- well. Not since that night in France, but he didn’t like to think about that. That’d been his last night in the army, and his last night with both arms, too. They’d snuck out of the barracks, and come back before anyone realized they’d been gone. Dammit, though, what good had all their secrecy been? They’d had their punishment in the end, the German bombs raining down like fire from heaven. He should be grateful, getting away with just an arm gone. Though sometimes he wondered if some of the others might’ve gotten the better deal after all. _God, Charlie, I hope your soul is resting, because mine sure as hell isn’t._ He passed his hand over his eyes and ran it back over his hair. _Snap out of it._ Shaking his head to clear it, he continued down the sidewalk.

A frozen puddle obstructed his path, and he veered to the side to avoid it. He didn’t notice the other man until he was almost on top of him. “Oh, sorr--” he cut off suddenly. A pair of green-flecked blue eyes stared up at him. “Sorry.” _Wow. Stay cool._

“It’s all right,” said the blue-eyed boy.

Bucky nodded. _Move, Barnes,_ he thought to himself, but somehow the message never quite reached his legs. Those clear blue eyes held him transfixed. _God, he’s so small. I could pick him up with one arm._ He smiled ruefully at himself. _Well, considering that’s all I have to work with._ He realized where his thoughts had gone and dragged his mind back to the scenario at hand.

“What’s so funny?” the stranger asked. Bucky realized his amusement must’ve shown on his face.

“Ah, nothing.” _And that blond hair._ He knew they were probably blocking the sidewalk, but his feet still didn’t want to move. He surreptitiously looked him over, taking him in with a quick flick of the eyes. He liked what he saw. _Stop it, look what happened last time, look what happened to Charlie when you let yourself want him._ Of course, he’d never been much good at listening to what his better sense told him. “Say, have you got the time?” he asked.

The blond boy looked down at his watch, a fancy gold model with a mother-of-pearl face. “Quarter past eight.”

Bucky nodded, and couldn’t help but note the way the other boy licked his lower lip slightly before speaking. _I swear he’s a fairy, looking at me like that from under those pretty eyelashes._ He broke eye contact. _Don’t think like that._ But he didn’t want to leave this attractive blond stranger, not just yet. He caught his eye again. By now he was sure they were blocking the sidewalk. “Have you got a lighter?” he asked. He didn’t really need a cigarette right now, strictly speaking. But then, it wasn’t every day that a cute blond practically fell into his lap.

“Sure, if you have a cigarette.”

Bucky patted the packet through his coat pocket. _Shit, do I have two left?_ He mentally checked. “Yeah. Come on, we’re blocking the sidewalk.” He stepped around the frozen puddle, briefly dragging his hand along the back of the smaller boy’s elbow before remembering there were people all around and shoving his hand back in his pocket. “There’s a little park up here where we can sit.” So it wasn’t really much of a park, mostly just a postage stamp of winter-browned grass and shrubs wedged in a gap between a couple of shops, but at least it had a bench and some semblance of privacy. The other boy followed him. Bucky was careful to keep him on his right side. Obviously he’d figure out in a minute or so that he was an amputee, but there was no need to shock the kid just yet. And if he just wanted a little companionship where the other person learned his name before learning about his lack of an arm, well, so what?

“What’s your name?” Bucky asked.

“Steven Rogers, but call me Steve. How about you?”

“James Buchanan Barnes. Just call me Bucky. All my friends do.” _Did. Whatever._

“Pleased to meet you, Bucky.” 

Bucky allowed himself a little smile. “Same here.” A gust of wind blew at his hair. He’d grown it out since coming home, to distance himself from having had to keep it short in the army. He absentmindedly brushed it back into place. “You from around here?”

“Me? No, not really. My family lives in Buffalo. I’m just here for school.”

A student, then. That explained why he wasn’t off at war like most of the other boys their age. _Though he’s so small, they probably wouldn’t take him anyway._

They arrived at the park and sat down on the bench, half-screened from the street by a scraggly-looking tree. “What’re you studying?” asked Bucky as he fished out his pack of Camels. He flipped the top with his thumb and held it out.

Steve shrugged. “Dunno. I don’t have to figure it out for a while.” He flicked his lighter and lit his cigarette, then held out his hand for Bucky’s. Bucky leaned forward with his cigarette between his lips and caught Steve’s eye.

Steve glanced down at Bucky’s lips for a moment as he lit the cigarette. Bucky noticed, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Thanks.” They smoked in silence for a minute. _Well, if he hasn’t noticed by now…_ Bucky shifted on the bench, turning so that his lack of an arm would be clear to Steve.

To his credit, Steve’s eyes only widened for half an instant.

“War vet. If you were wondering.” Bucky took a drag off his cigarette and studied the herringbone brickwork under their feet. He still wasn’t quite used to interacting with people when he had such a readily apparent difference, wasn’t quite used to their reactions.

“Oh. Well, that’s all right.” Steve regained his composure quickly, for which Bucky was grateful. Almost as bad as people’s poorly-concealed stares was their pity, their clumsy attempts at sympathy. He was glad Steve wasn’t the type to make a big deal of it.

“Honorable discharge four months after heading overseas.” He considered for a moment, then decided to spit it out before he could change his mind. He could almost swear this fellow was queer too, and if not, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Course, given a month or two more and it’d’ve probably been dishonorable.” He studied Steve’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“And why’s that?” Steve was watching him too. _He thinks he knows, but doesn’t want to say anything._

“My friend Dorothy could probably tell you about it.” Bucky tossed it out as casually as he could, even though he could feel his throat trying to close around the words as he said them. He’d never even picked up a guy at the baths before, let alone by a chance meeting. He didn’t want to mess it up. And if anyone overheard… But the little phrase sounded innocuous enough, and the bushes hid them. Even on the slim chance that someone rushing by on holiday errands did notice them, he doubted any of them would know what was up.

Steve smiled. “Dorothy. I think I know her.” He crossed his legs and turned slightly to face Bucky.

He smiled back. “Good, then.” The atmosphere softened. Bucky slid over on the bench, subtly enough so as to be almost unnoticeable. He found himself studying Steve’s hands, pale and slender and ungloved even in the chilly weather. But then, so was Bucky’s-- he only had the use of one hand; he damn well didn’t want anything obstructing it. “Aren’t you cold?” Without thinking, he reached out to brush Steve’s slim fingers with his own, then jerked his hand back to his knee. _Christ, you’re in the middle of Brooklyn, not some little nowhere-outpost in France. Control yourself._ But Steve didn’t seem to mind much. He left his hand lying between them on the bench. 

“A little. It’s not so bad.” Then he stole a glance at Bucky. He’s doing that thing with his eyelashes again, he’s got to know he does it. “You look chilly, though.” And then he reached out and covered Bucky’s hand, right there in public, didn’t he know the trouble that sort of thing could land them in? Bucky panicked a little bit. “Hey, punk, I need that hand. Only have the one.” He jerked his hand back and tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette, mostly just to give it something to do aside from hold Steve’s hand. He had to admit, though, the jolt he’d felt at his touch hadn’t been all fear.

Steve’s cheeks went red, and he dropped his eyes to look at the dead weeds straggling through the bricks.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “Sorry, kid. Sorry.” He placed the cigarette back between his lips and rested his hand back on the bench, not touching Steve’s but next to it. A safe middle ground.

“I’m not a kid. I’m almost twenty; I doubt you’re much older than I am.”

Bucky realized he might’ve stumbled onto sensitive ground, what with Steve being so little. Ever since coming back, though, he’d felt a disconnect with people his age. Well, with everyone, really. He felt tired out, old before his time. He met people his own age and found himself struck by their optimism and shelteredness. “Sorry. Just turned twenty-one, here.”

“Never went to college, though?”

Bucky shook his head. “Parents didn’t have the dough. It’s all right though. Got myself a job, an apartment.” _And not much else,_ he mentally added, but Steve didn’t need to know his whole tragic story. He’d just met the guy.

“I’m here cause my parents want me to. And I couldn’t join the army, so…” he trailed off and shrugged. A few snowflakes swirled down, heralding more to come. “I don’t mind it, mostly. Except that exams are coming up.” The sole of his boot scuffed at the ground.

Following the path of the snowflakes with his eyes, Bucky shifted on the bench. It really was cold, why hadn’t he thought to wear a scarf? It would probably start snowing harder soon, too. They would do well to go someplace indoors and warm. He lightly knocked Steve’s elbow with his hand and caught his eye, letting the corner of his mouth turn up. “I think I can help you get through your exams.”

“What? I don’t-- you just said you never went to college. I can manage on my own.”

 _This kid is dense._ But then, maybe he’d never done this sort of thing before, either. Bucky gave him a significant look. It took a second, but understanding dawned in Steve’s eyes. “O-- oh. Yeah. That sounds-- yeah.” He turned pink again. Bucky thought he was positively adorable.

“I have an apartment,” Bucky volunteered. It wasn’t exactly ideal, a little on the shabby side, but it would do. At least it was private, and he could always pay the heating bill, so it was warm.

Steve must’ve sensed his reluctance. “Don’t worry about that. I, ah. Don’t have a roommate.” He was still blushing, and it made Bucky want to pull him onto his lap and see what that pretty little mouth of his tasted like.

“Well, then. Sounds good to me.” He crushed the remains of his cigarette underfoot and stood. Steve followed suit, and the two of them made their way through the crowd of holiday shoppers.

Steve’s dormitory building was a four-story brick block set across a courtyard from an identical one. Bucky had passed the place now and again, but never paid it much mind. The university had never interested him, and besides, it wasn’t as if he’d ever had much to do with the types who went there. Rich kids, mostly, the children of businessmen and politicians. Bucky wondered which one Steve was.

He led Bucky across the courtyard, nodding at people he knew as they passed. Bucky hunched his shoulders and kept his head down.  
“Won’t people think it’s odd, some nobody like me hanging around here?” he muttered to Steve as they climbed the steps to the front door. Blessedly warm air met them as they entered.

“What? No. There’s people coming in and out of here all the time. You’re our age, they’ll just assume you’re a student.” He paused, and lowered his voice so no one else would overhear. “Besides, you don’t look like a nobody. You look-- you look good.” And he tugged at Bucky’s right sleeve to lead him across the common area to the stairwell before Bucky could get out a response. 

It shouldn’t surprise him so much to hear it-- after all, before the war he’d never had any trouble finding a girl to go out with on Saturday nights-- but still, it felt nice. He hadn’t heard anyone except his mother say it since that night in France. And it felt extra good coming from a cute guy like Steve. They started up the stairs.

That night in France. Dammit, why did thoughts of _that_ always have to intrude when he least wanted them? He remembered waking Charlie just past midnight, remembered how the moonlight through the window frosted his hair silver like some sprite out of a fairytale. And he’d felt like a knight from a fairytale, too, walking through the French countryside under the full moon with his lover. It had been perfect, all the way down to the dewdrops coalescing on the tips of the grass and the soft dimples at the base of Charlie’s spine.

And then the next morning before the sun came up, the German bombs roaring down on the base. The blood-red flames rending apart the quiet and the moonlight and the fairytale. The blistering heat on his face. The agony in his arm as the rafter came crashing down, the shrapnel in his side. Charlie’s screams, and how he’d been too late to get to him.

He suddenly wished it wasn’t quite so warm in the building.

Christ, what was he doing? Hadn’t he learned? And here he was again, with another pretty blond boy. Hadn’t he been punished enough? And Charlie, too, look what had happened to Charlie. _Jesus, why do I have to be this way._ He closed his eyes.

They came to a stop. Steve was looking at him curiously. “Bucky, are you all right?”

Bucky shook himself. “Sorry. Yeah.” They must have reached Steve’s room, since the other boy was fitting a key into the lock of room 319.

Steve gave him a quick smile. The corners of his eyes made little crinkles when he did. Despite himself, Bucky’s heart fluttered.

Steve opened the door. “Here we are. Home sweet home.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the desk chair. After taking off his boots, he moved to help Bucky out of his coat, but he waved him away. He could manage. Thankfully, Steve gave the stump of his arm only the briefest of glances when the coat came off.

The room clearly belonged to an artist. Steve had set up an easel bearing a half-finished painting of the view of the courtyard by the window where a roommate’s bed would have been, and pencil drawings were strewn across the desks-- two of them, because they were bolted to the floor and unremovable. Aside from art supplies scattered here and there, it looked like Steve kept his room reasonably tidy, with the bed neatly made and his clothes all hanging in the wardrobe or folded in the heavy trunk at the foot of the bed. It was evening now, but during the day the windows would let in plenty of natural light. Bucky thought it overall gave a pleasant effect.

“What happened to your roommate?” he asked Steve.

Steve shrugged. “Nothing. Odd number of guys in the dorm, guess I’m just the lucky one.” He sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and looked up at Bucky. “So what do you think of the place?”

“It’s nice. I like it.” And he did. He’d never been in a college dorm before. It reminded him a bit of his own little apartment, albeit tidier. He sat down at the desk. _I’ve never done this before, how does this work?_ He had no idea what you were supposed to do upon finding yourself alone and in private with a cute guy you’d just met. He cast about for something to say, and his eyes landed on the drawings stacked on the desk. “So you draw, then? I like these.” He gestured at the drawings, the most visible of which was a picture of a shirtless young man from the back. Realizing too late that the picture was, in fact, probably a self-portrait, he dropped his gaze. He didn’t need to be embarrassed, though; he must’ve said something right because Steve’s face lit up.

“Thanks!” He hopped up and shuffled through some of the papers on the desk. “It’s just a hobby, but I like to think I’m not half bad.” He held up one drawing, a colored pencil sketch of a superhero in a red, white, and blue suit holding a round shield. “I liked comic books a lot as a kid. I dabble in it now and then.” He showed Bucky another drawing of the same superhero, this one throwing his shield at a cartoon Hitler. “I think this one turned out well.” 

Bucky nodded. Damn, the kid had talent. “They’re really good.”

Steve beamed. Then, he gave Bucky kind of a sly look. “You know… I could draw you, if you like.” His fingertips traced Bucky’s collar and slipped between the buttons over his chest.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. Was he suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? Because if so, well. The idea did have a certain appeal. Somehow Steve was standing just between his knees and Bucky didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He was in his space and it felt like the charge in the air before a lightning strike. Two green-blue eyes transfixed him.

“That is, if you want me to.” Steve took half a step back and lowered his eyelids.

“No-- I mean, yeah.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist, pulled him back between his knees. “Yeah. Draw me.” He placed Steve’s hand back on his chest.

“Alright, then.” Gone was his blushing. Actually, Bucky was pretty sure he was the one blushing as Steve’s fingertips trailed down the skin over his jugulars and undid his top button. They got his shirt open, then Steve took his hand and led him to the bed. _This is going faster than I thought it would’ve._

Bucky sat on the edge while Steve stood between his thighs to slip the shirt off his shoulders. Cool air touched his skin and hardened his nipples. He had a sudden, unwelcome thought-- what if Steve saw his body and decided he didn’t want him? It was one thing to see the stump of his arm in clothes, but bare, the scar tissue was all too obvious.  
Steve seemed a little busy taking in the rest of him, though. One palm stroked down Bucky’s spine while the other rested at the top of his leg. For an absurd moment, it felt as if he had both arms again, and he wanted to pull Steve onto the bed with him. Instead, he closed his eyes in bliss as Steve’s left hand ran down his back. He’d almost forgotten how good that could feel-- Without thinking, he tilted his head and brought his face closer to the other boy’s. Steve smirked and pulled back. “I’m drawing you, remember?” He leaned in again to unbuckle Bucky’s belt. He hoped he wasn’t blushing more as Steve’s hands ran over the front of his pants. The guy’d barely even touched him, let alone kissed him, and here he was already half-hard. But then, it’d been a while since someone’d touched him like this.

Before he quite realized it, he was naked on the bed. Steve turned to shut the curtains. Even though they were three floors up, it never hurt to be too careful. It soothed the nagging anxiety at the back of Bucky’s mind, anyway. Steve turned on the desk lamp, which suffused the room with a soft, warm light. “For the shadows,” he said by way of explanation, coming back to the bed. Then he sat beside Bucky and took his hand. For a moment, Bucky wondered whether he wasn’t going to draw him, after all. “Move,” said Steve. He gently but firmly pushed Bucky back onto the bed, and he realized that Steve was posing him. If anyone was going to be pushing anyone into the bed, he’d assumed that it’d be him, or at least that was the way it had always been with Charlie, but he found that he didn’t mind it in the least. In fact, he--

Steve’s exploring hands found the deep scar at the top of his iliac crest. _The flash of the bombs, the pain as the shard of metal bit into his side--_ “Don’t,” he said. He moved Steve’s hand away from the scar. Steve nodded and stroked along his waist instead. Bucky relaxed. Steve’s warm fingers left swirls of electricity on his skin. He wanted to grab the smaller boy around the waist, wanted to see what he looked like under those clothes. Steve must have sensed it, too, because he stopped running his hands over the lines of Bucky’s muscles and started gently moving his limbs into place. “Come on. Help me out here, you’re bigger than I am.” In the end, he had Bucky half-sitting, half-lying across the bed, propped up on his right arm.

Steve sat across from him in the wooden desk chair. He took up his sketchbook and a charcoal pencil, but didn’t begin drawing just yet. Instead, he just looked. Bucky shivered. He felt exposed and vulnerable, but not in a bad way. He liked it, actually. Steve could see-- well, everything. His eyes grazed over his face, his chest, his stomach and his hips, and lingered on his crotch. Bucky shifted his hips and studied the blue and white quilt beneath him. _He’s not even touching you, you shouldn’t be hard._ Steve had undressed him, though. And the fact that Steve could see everything turned him on.

“Look over here, Bucky, I want your face in the picture.” He tore his gaze from his study of the quilt and looked back at Steve. Even still in his clothes, Steve was beautiful. Bucky heard the soft rasp of charcoal on paper as he began to draw, with long, smooth strokes depicting the lines of his body.

Silence for a few minutes while Steve sketched and Bucky did his best to maintain his position. Then, Steve spoke up. “Ah. How do you want me to do your arm?”

“You mean my lack thereof?”

The ghost of a smile touched Bucky’s lips when Steve stammered out a “well, yeah.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Just draw it however you want.” In all honesty, it hadn’t crossed Bucky’s mind until Steve had mentioned it. He thought for a minute, then decided he didn’t really care. He just liked lying there for Steve to look at.

Several more minutes passed, during which Steve kept sketching and Bucky caught his eye now and then. Finally, Steve stood up. “Finished.” He tore the page out of the sketchbook and brought it to the bed for Bucky to see.

Bucky relaxed his position, lying on his stomach and supporting his chin with his hand. Steve sat next to him and let his thigh press against Bucky’s side. The picture was beautiful-- all bold lines and stark shadows. It captured Bucky’s likeness remarkably well, in his opinion, especially considering it hadn’t taken all that long. And what Steve had done about his arm… he’d expected him to just leave it off, or else draw in the mirror image of his right arm, but instead he’d given him a whole new one, a graceful limb of segmented metal that flowed organically into his shoulder. Not the twin to his real arm, but a matched sibling. “I-- I love it.” He smiled at Steve. “You’re talented.”

Steve smiled back. “Thanks. You like the arm, then?”

“I do.”

“Good. I thought it suited you.” Steve set the drawing on the bedside table and pulled both legs up onto the bed. “Now come here.”

Bucky sat up and pulled Steve towards him. He’d thought correctly, he _could_ pull him onto his lap with one arm. Steve sat crosswise over Bucky’s legs and wrapped an arm around his back. _“Finally.”_ Bucky looked into Steve’s face.

Steve shrugged, as if to say, _what?_ And leaned in. He was dark-eyed with desire, the black of his pupils engulfing the blue irises. He rested his hand against the stubble on the side of Bucky’s jaw. Before Steve could bring his face any nearer, Bucky closed distance between them and kissed him, open-mouthed. A little clumsy, perhaps, but then he _was_ off-balance from having his arm wrapped around the other boy’s waist. Steve responded enthusiastically and leaned into Bucky’s chest. Jesus, it felt good, having a warm mouth on his and the solid weight of another human pressing into him. He slid his hand up the back of Steve’s shirt. His skin felt warm and unexpectedly soft under his palm.

“Hold on--” Steve broke their kiss and shifted around to straddle Bucky’s lap. “Bad angle.” He leaned back in. One hand pressed Bucky’s left hip, the other traced over his right nipple. “Better.” His lips were soft against Bucky’s.

Bucky took his hand out from under Steve’s shirt and fumbled at his top button. He’d managed to get used to doing his own one-handed, why was it so much harder to do someone else’s? After a few seconds of clumsy fumbling, Steve took his hand in his own. “Hey, it’s all right. I’ve got it.” He moved Bucky’s hand down to his waist and undid the buttons of his shirt himself. Bucky mentally kicked himself. _Can’t even open a guy’s shirt, have to let him do it for you._ “There we go.” He seemed oblivious to the direction Bucky’s thoughts had taken. Bucky didn’t respond. _Useless._

Steve cocked his head to the side. “You ok?” He rested his arms on Bucky’s shoulders. 

He shook himself. “Yeah.” He took in Steve’s slender form, just as pretty under his clothes as in them. _Maybe not entirely useless._ He grazed the edge of Steve’s collarbone with the backs of his fingers and tugged at his shirt collar to strip it off him. Steve let it fall to the floor beside the bed. Pulling him forward on his lap, Bucky pressed his lips to the hollow behind the corner of Steve’s jaw. “I’m fine.” Steve wriggled forward until they were chest-to chest and combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair. An quiet hum came from somewhere in the back of Bucky’s throat. He loved having his hair touched, loved it even more now that it was long enough for someone to work their fingers through it.

Steve’s belt, at least, he could manage, and he was able to pull his trousers halfway down his thighs before Steve had to get them the rest of the way.

Steve’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Bucky parted his lips further, but Steve pulled back, just enough to put a micron of space between their lips. _You tease._ He found himself getting pushed back onto the bed again and had no desire to resist. He went limp underneath Steve and let him kiss his mouth, his neck, the dip at the base of his throat. He’d usually preferred being on top, but-- Steve was kissing a line down his abdomen, _Jesus, Steve, your mouth--_ he supposed he could make an exception. He felt Steve’s hand grab his cock and it required some effort not to take him by the hair and shove his head down another six inches or so.

Steve looked up at him with an expression of playful innocence on his face. “What, do you like this?” Shit, had he made a sound? He doubted that the dormitory walls would do much to muffle noise.

Bucky drew in a shuddery breath. “Yeah.” Almost of its own accord, his hand slid up the back of Steve’s neck and grabbed into his hair.

Steve smiled and gave Bucky’s cock a squeeze. His head dipped down again, he looked gorgeous with his face right there, and-- “Ohh.” Bucky thought he must’ve died and gone to heaven, except that guys like him didn’t go to heaven. Steve slid his lips down Bucky’s dick. “Christ.” It was bliss, pure bliss. Everything else faded away, and he laid back into the pillows and stroked his hand through Steve’s hair.

 _Oh, God._ His hips jerked up involuntarily. “Fuck, Steve, fuck, I’m close, stop.” He pulled Steve’s head up by the hair.

“Hm?” Steve climbed up to lay on top of him and propped himself on his elbows to look at Bucky’s face. They were both breathing hard. Bucky twitched when Steve’s thighs rubbed against his dick.

“Just-- hold on a sec.” Bucky leaned up to kiss Steve, desperate and sloppy. He dropped back onto the pillows and wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist. His breathing slowed to a more reasonable rate. “Let me fuck you.” He rolled the two of them onto their sides and got Steve lying on his stomach. He didn’t even have to touch him for Steve to part his legs.

The dim light of the bedside lamp brought out the definition of the muscles in Steve’s back. Shadows pooled below the crests of his shoulder blades and in the curve of his neck. Bucky noticed that he had the same dimples above his buttocks as Charlie had. “You’re so beautiful, Steve.” He remembered another night, where the moon had cast the same shadows on a different boy’s back.

Steve turned his head to look back at Bucky over his shoulder. “What did you say about fucking me?” Bucky realized he must have spaced out again.  
“That I was going to.” He nested his face into the spot where Steve’s shoulder met his neck. “Do you have--”

“Bedside table.”

Bucky opened the drawer and found the jar of Vaseline, along with a packet of condoms. So, maybe Steve had done this sort of thing before after all, not that it mattered much.  
Bucky slid a finger into Steve, then two fingers, working him open. Bucky found Steve’s prostate, and soon enough Steve was pushing his face into the pillow to muffle his sounds of pleasure. He spread his knees further apart. “Yes, keep doing that, keep going.” Bucky pulled his fingers out, eliciting a whine of disappointment from Steve.

“I said I was going to fuck you, remember?” he murmured into Steve’s ear as he leaned over Steve’s back and pushed into him. “You feel so good, God, Steve.” Fucking him was pure pleasure. He forced himself to slow down to make it last longer.

“No, please, do me harder.” And Bucky did, and soon they were both coming, fast and hard. Bucky collapsed onto Steve’s back. “Oh, God, Steve.”

Afterwards, they lay curled together on the bed, Bucky’s chest to Steve’s back. Bucky drew him a little closer and rested his face against the back of his neck. He smelled nice, a little like soap and a little like sweat. He sighed in contentment. And he had to admit, missing an arm did make cuddling that much easier since there was nothing to get crushed against the mattress. He traced lazy circles on Steve’s chest with his fingers. “This is nice.”

“Mmhmm.” Steve leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder. The air felt warm and drowsy. Bucky realized that it had probably gotten late, but didn’t much feel like twisting around to check the clock. He wanted to lie there for a minute, just a minute… His eyes dropped shut.

Dammit. If he stayed there much longer, he’d fall asleep, and even though he had no one to miss him for a night, a stranger stumbling out of Steve’s dorm the next morning in disheveled clothing would probably arouse suspicion. “Steve.” He shook his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He turned around to look at Bucky.

“I have to go, I can’t stay tonight.” _Bad things happen when I stick around._

“Oh.” Steve looked a little disappointed. “It’s late, are you sure?”

“Yeah. I don’t want people-- don’t want people to think anything.”

Steve rolled over to face him, pushed a strand of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “No one ever pays any attention. They’ll just assume you’re some student they don’t know.”

“No, I have to go.” Firebombs flashed behind his eyes, and he dragged himself into a sitting position before Steve’s fingers in his hair could convince him otherwise.

Steve sat up too. “If you’re sure-- you know, I could call you a taxi in the morning, it’s no problem--”

“I’m sure.” Bucky hunted around for his shirt and found it on the floor by the bed.

“Alright.” Steve looked at him for a moment, sucking on his bottom lip, then helped him to find his clothes.

Bucky stood by the door with his hand on the knob, but something kept him from turning it. Some magnetic force stopped him and made him turn back around. Steve still looked at him from the bed. The moment stretched between them like a strand of gossamer pulled taut between two branches until Steve broke the silence. “Will I see you again?”

Bucky took a step back into the room. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Steve smiled. He had a smile that could light up anything, really he did. “Great. Let me give you the number for the pay phone for this floor, just call and ask for me and whoever answers can come and get me.” He grabbed a scrap of paper off the desk and wrote the number in a neat, precise hand.

“Thanks.” Bucky took the scrap of paper, their fingers touching, and tucked it away in his coat pocket. “Guess I’ll be calling you later, then.” He hesitated for a second, then bent down to brush Steve’s lips with his own. “See you.” The door clicked shut behind him.


End file.
